


For the Darkness Has Passed and the Legend Yet Grows

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [6]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Amends for the real Ned Low, And for Tadhg Murphy who deserved more to his role, Angst, Billy Bones is a cinnamon roll, But Not Much, But it's not Ned who's the rapist!!!, Canon-Typical Abortion, Canon-Typical Violence, Confusion, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Past, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Family Loss, Fluff and Smut, Humane Psycho, Longing, Lowbones, M/M, Ned Low has feelings, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tenderness, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Humans Behind Legends and Monsters, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, at all, canon time, widower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: Remember: according to history, Ned Low wasn't prone to hurt women or children. I feel that's important to keep in mind if you feel suspicious about some of the tags.Comments are always much appreciated and if you feel hesistant to the idea of having a bite of Ned Low the psycho, I want to ease your concern by telling you that Black Sails, for all it's glorious characters, made Ned Low far too much of a psychopath than he actually was, and that is NOT the case in this series at all.Title is from Skyrim's "The Dragonborn Comes" and Malukah's phenomenal composition:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rg2vkz72a8As always, I dedicate it to the one who woke me up from the BS slumber. I hope you enjoy it E_A_Phoenix and I promise I will dig myself into more of your works as soon as I'm back in reading mode again! <3<3<3
Relationships: Billy Bones/Edward "Ned" Low, Edward "Ned" Low/Eliza Marble (past), Muldoon/John Silver (mentioned)
Series: A Simple Man [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	For the Darkness Has Passed and the Legend Yet Grows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts).

He’s standing in a pool of blood again, some of it his own and the smell is filling his nose, his lungs. The oily taste on his mouth, not his own but the stains of a no good rigger who thought there’d be no consequenses in taking Mark Read. The men stand silent around the scene, not one has intevened, why would they? He’s giving them the show they want, sprung from a need he’s never been able to stop and the lump of sliced flesh is no longer to be reckognized.  
  
Ned wipes his sword and dagger off on his own breeches, giving what used to be a rigger a last glare.  
  
“Get rid of him.”  
  
With that, he heads down to his quarters, not dismissing his crew, just trusting them to follow command. They all love the blood, the fight, the trembling bodies of an uneven fight, every punishment a chance to relish, as long as it’s not you at the pointy end. And Ned knows, beyond doubt, that were there any of them who’d thought of taking Mark Read, his cabin boy, without permission, that thought has now been wiped out.   
  
Ned opens the door to his quarters and the pathetic, trembling figure in the corner, starts whimpering. There’s blood on the ripped trousers and when Ned kneels down, Read curls up to a ball, trying to protect what’s never been a secret to the captain.  
  
“S’over now. No one’s touching ye in my crew again.”  
  
There’s only shivering and Ned sighs.  
  
“Look, I know yer secret, lass. I don’ care if ye stay or not, but no matter wha’, yer secret is safe with me. Wha’s yer real name?”  
  
A whimper, but she looks up.  
  
“M-mary… Mary Read.”  
  
Ned smiles.  
  
“Mark… Mary… Wha’s a single letter? Anyone else ye think knows?”  
“No, Captain.”  
“Good, an’ t’is gonnae stay sta’ way, so ye better get yerself a better belt. An’ sharpen yer damn knives.”  
  
He clears his throat.  
  
“An’ I suggest ye put something in yer breeches too. Sooner or later, someone’s gonnae take a closer look.”  
“I… I can stay, Captain?”  
“Aint press ganging anyone, lass, an’ ye’re doing a good job. Not throwing ye overboard, but keep yer damn secret, or there’ll come a moment, sooner or later, when I cannae protect ye.”  
“Y-yes, Captain. Thank you.”  
“Jus’ get yerself cleaned up. Ye can rest in here for now. I’ll send down some water an’ cloths.”  
  
With that, he quickly strokes the girls’ hair and leaves to tend to his own wounds.  
  
***  
  
“Who is she?”  
“She who?”  
“The girl you’ve been seeing.”  
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Well… boy, then.”  
  
Billy just stares at Silver, who calmly looks out over the sea.  
  
“I… I have no_ boy_. Jesus, you have nothing more interesting to snoop into? Mind your own matelot.”  
  
Silver smiles.  
  
“Muldoon can mind himself just fine. But you’re seeing someone.”  
“That so? You’re spying on me?”  
“Not exactly. You’ve sported a rather large love bite on your arm. And unless you’ve been digging into yourself…”  
  
Billy quickly looks down, cheeks heating as he realising there’s indeed been a visible sign from his night with Ned. It’s gone now, but it was there and of course Silver has to be an asshole, waiting to comment on it until now.  
  
“Don’t you have more urgent tasks to deal with, Silver? I’m sure there’s potatos somewhere that needs peeling. And if you knew how to cook, I wouldn’t have to eat my own arm.”  
  
It’s a rather bad comeback, but it’s all Billy can manage now. It’s been well over a fortnight and no sign of the_ Fancy_, no news, not even a rumor has reached Nassau, except the ghost stories and as much as Billy hates them, right now they’re all that’s left of Ned Low only he can’t find the man who fell asleep in his arms in them.  
  
Billy grew up with agitators, he knows the power of a good story but the one about Ned isn’t a ghost story, it’s a tale about monsters splitting babes in half, raping girls until they beg to be killed, mutilating for sport and forcing the victims to eat their unfortunate mate’s lips and ears. The kind of stories not even Silver would tell. A darkness that makes Flint’s rage and secrecy, his dead eyes and motionless voice seem like a beacon of light.  
  
Listening to them hurts deep and there’s nothing Billy can do but shutting his ears, trying to avoid them and keep in mind how the Englishmen love their propaganda and how most pirates throw themselves over any good story that either makes them bad to the bone or the unsung heroes. He doesn’t know the monster pictured in the tavern talk and Billy takes comfort in the notion that somewhere there’s another tavern where Flint and Vane are spoken of as the same kind of vicious demons and yet, Billy knows how little truth there is to it to legends and myths.  
  
Ned Low is a man split in different parts, as most pirates are. Few of them are complete and utter brutes and those who are generally don’t last long, since brotherhood is a fundamental part of a pirate crew and the kind of monsters the propaganda speak of, wouldn’t be capable of committing to a crew anyway. At least not long enough to be successful. Piracy thrives on ghost stories and no demon from the pits of Hell could feel as sweet and living as the man Billy sees before him when closing his eyes.  
  
This kind of longing is dangerous and it doesn’t go away.  
  
***  
  
The girl is weeping but the treatment is necessary and she knows it. The risk of carrying a bastard will put an end to her disguise and when Ned is done, he pulls the blanket over her and gives her another cup of rum.  
  
“Sleep, kid. An’ stop crying.”  
  
He’s not as rough as he’d be with a boy in need of help, but enough not to attract suspicion should Meeks be listening rather than watching outside. As far as _he_ knows, there’s a boy teared up in the arse in there, not a girl with an equally roughed up pussy, and Ned intends on keeping it that way. They’re welcome to have their way with men, rape and torture and kill them should they want to. Ned doesn’t care, in fact, he thrives on it. But not this, not with children and especially not a girl. The main issue now is where this Mark – or Mary – Read should be left and on what terms.  
  
At least she’s not gonna end up with a swollen belly from this and the rigger never got the chance to reveal the secret, being busy dying. Good riddens. This is the kind of shite you get to deal with when having women or boys on board. Ned gives the sniffling creature a grim look.  
  
“The account isn’t a place for someone like ye, Read. When we get back to Nassau, ye better look for a new position. Ye’ll get yer share an’ then… Ye better not stay around my crew.”  
“Thank you, Captain.”  
“Don’ mention it.”  
  
He suddenly gives her the fearful face known to scare even brutes and he looks straight into her eyes.  
  
“I’m serious, Read. Don’ say a _fucking _word or I’ll come for ye an’ then I wont be as generous.”  
  
She’s nodding and then accepts another cup of rum, it’s a strong batch even for a fullgrown man and this is a young girl. That’s good, because she needs to be kept silent and God knows why Ned just doesn’t kill her, it would be a mercy, but something’s holding him back, always has when it comes to girls, to women as well but girls especially. Had Read been a boy, there’d been no question. But they’re soon at the port and Ned has more urgent issues to attend.  
  
***  
  
They need no messenger this time. It’s too risky for a mere fuck and that’s what it is, right? They do not know each other behind skin and flesh and Billy has never been a romantic person. Some in the crew, like Dr. Howell, Dufresne or even DeGroot and Gates, would borrow a novel from the Captain on occasion but Billy’s never dared to ask, has prefered to wait for them to get available to buy in Nassau or, be a part of his share of a prize. There haven’t been too many and love poems and such things unusual and not to his taste anyway.  
  
He’s just not the kind of man to have a wife, he supposes. A matelot, perhaps, but that’s never been something to consider either. Never met the right mate and a matelotage is about more than just sex. Billy cares deeply about his crew, they’re his family, his brothers, but a matelot is something more and right now there’s only one matelotage in the crew: Silver and Muldoon, who’re mostly nagging at each other like an old married couple. In a way though, it’s good to see how Silver seems capable of caring for another person, since Muldoon got wounded. Perhaps there’s more to Silver than mere schemes and manipulative smiles.  
  
So no, Billy’s not feeling anything but the excitement, the carnal need, surely. So why is he so… anxious? Last time, Ned left just before dawn, no note, no sign behind but Billy can swear there was kiss on his cheek and when he woke up, he could still smell the man on his skin. Salty and bitter, it was the scent that was sweet and already gone. He’s a fool for missing it so insanely and too anxious to walk, renting a horse from the inn instead.  
  
He’s packed a saddlebag with food and drink and some other things, blushing for it because who the hell does he think he’s seeing? A girl to court?  
  
Maybe Ned wont show up after all. It’s an uncertain world, especially the kind of life they’re living and getting attached is a bad idea but fuck, as he’s taking a detour to a forrest area, getting a cloke on and waiting for more of the sun to set, his heart is beating like he’s in the midst of a raid, like his blood is rushing to keep him alert and ready for anything. An ambush, a shot in the dark. A long night of loneliness, perhaps it will remain so.  
  
***  
  
He waited until he was out of way of eyes. Ears too, but eyes mostly. Ned Low is a name that comes with certain traits now and the dark cloke is hiding a suspiciously clean face, scarred and ragged still, yes, but the first mate of the Walrus crew has been neat at clean, especially for a pirate, and Ned isn’t one to take pride in reeking just for the sake of it.  
  
He wants to fuck. To _be_ fucked, more exactly, but even if he had been the kind of man wanting scared boys, that treat wouldn’t be possible, not for a captain. There are matelot pairs in his crew, of course, but as long as there’s no lack of enthusiasm, courage and loyalty at sea, whomever takes it up the arse isn’t anyone’s business but said matelots. A Captain, how ever, can’t indulge in all of that. He has to be strong, he can – hell, he _should_ – take, should fuck but the crew has enough respect for Ned’s strange sides, since he in turn allows them to live out a kind of carnage even men such as Flint and Vane wouldn’t.  
  
The Fancy’s crew got their share and the scared “boy” is under strict surveilance by Meeks, who’s on equally strict orders not to touch “him”. Meeks is trustworthy and whatever the Captain does on his own time, is his and his business alone. Even if said business is Captain Flint’s first mate.  
  
Ned is tense as a wire in the darkness, the air is clear tonight yet his breath seems strained. That’s new, even with the stinging pain from the wound. Usually very few, if any, things makes his chest go tight like that. Most days he’s feeling… well, not much. The anger, sure, the despise for mankind, but even those seem shallow, a dullness sort of. As the night settles around him, the anger sets in the background, becomes a silhuette instead of a beacon and Ned refuses to acknowledge the pull within as the sound of a horse breaks the silence and he can spot the figure no cloke can fully disguise.  
  
The house is still dark, Ned doesn’t want to alert anyone that might be unhappy enough to cross by, but he can see Billy now, walking with long steps and fuck, there’s that pull again, the one Ned can’t yet really define and chooses to ignore as best he can. So instead he just steps out of the darkness, not to startle his… whatever they are to each other.  
  
Billy Bones looks up a few feet away and Ned is standing just as easy onto the half broken front porch as he doesn’t feel.  
  
“Ned?”  
“Ye came…”  
  
There’s a smile and Billy ties the horse to a tree.  
  
“You sound surprised.”  
  
And Billy sounds light, easy, as if this is a casual meeting. Ned feels his face twitch, lips turning into a sour grimaze.  
  
“S’been over a fortnight…”  
“Seventeen days.”  
“Ye counted?”  
  
Somehow that’s surprising and the tall man nods as he steps up to the porch, close enough for them to touch yet neither seem to be able to. They don’t crash into each other, the tension suddenly seems too thick, like a fog or marshland and keeping them apart. The tall man’s eyes are so dark, sliding up and down Ned’s body.  
  
“You’re hurt.”  
  
It’s a statement and one of something so obvious Ned can’t help but smile.  
  
“Aye, uncommon at sea, righ’?”  
  
The giant reaches a hand out, Ned thinks he’s gonna grab him and bring him close, hard, but the touch landing on his cheek is soft, softer than it should be and he leans into it, eyes closing as he’s pulled far too tenderly to the man’s frame, those huge arms coming around him and there it is again, the unnamable, unmentionable tug that’s been annoying him for weeks now.  
  
When he’s finally there, locked in the embrace, face not reaching further up than the man’s chest, he should feel inadequate, a lesser man, a vulnerable fool walking into a trap, but he just doesn’t and Billy sighs deeply into his neck.  
  
For a long moment there’s only their breaths, the low sounds of the night surrounding them and the combined thud-thud-thud of their hearts, or whatever it is that Ned is possessing in it’s place. But the chest he’s pressed against must have one, of that he’s certain and Billy’s is fast, not from the ride because this is a man of strong nature and stamina and it’s baffling to feel the drumming onto his face, knowing it belongs to Ned, or at least something he’s presenting.  
  
Billy backs him inside and Ned awaits for the wall to press against him like last time, but the man stops by the table and sturdy chairs, sits down and easily gets Ned to straddle him. The pupils of the blue eyes are so dark the gaze seems almost black, drilling into him, under the twisted mask that is his marbled face and Ned knows what’s beneath is sure as hell aint a prettier sight. He wants the man, needs him to stop fucking staring but that would be to admit he’s uncomfortable, weak, and Ned isn’t giving him, or anyone else that.  
  
So he turns the table the only way he can and dives straight in.  
  
***  
  
His lover makes the sweetest sounds and he smells like the tide, like blood and battle, wind and also like an animal, something wild looking for shelter with the storm whipping his face. That’s how it feels, the way Ned holds onto him, hard and bruising and it’s addictive in a manner that could become a real threat to far too many things Billy can’t afford loosing. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t give in to this urge, but holding this man is the only thing that makes sense right now.  
  
Their kisses are frantic, messy and poorly angled, all teeth and heated breaths. Starved creatures throwing themselves over a willing prey, no manners, no elegance, nothing even barely resembling of decency, let alone love. Not that Billy would know.  
  
He moans as Ned bites into his neck, just on the right side of pain and Billy digs into the waist of his lover only to get a poorly muted hiss in return. Instinctively, Billy slides his palm up under the man’s jacket and shirt, feeling a layer of swathes and there’s another moan, annoyed and growling.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
“No, you’re not.”  
“Fuck ye, Bones.”  
  
Billy sighs and creates some distance between them, still holding the man but in a way that allows him to see his face. It’s difficult to read, but Billy imagines it’s becoming easier at times. He hardens his grip, demonstrating how easily he could just overpower the feral captain.  
  
“I’m not fucking anyone who might bleed out on me.”  
  
For a moment it seems like Ned is gonna challenge him anyway, the muscles in his shoulders tightening, breath strained and his one seeing eye fixed on Billy, not shiding away. Billy is about to tell him to undress when there’s another hiss working it’s way out of the man and Billy sees red on the shirt.  
  
“Lay down. Now.”  
  
It’s an order, nothing less, and while Ned isn’t a man who seems like he takes kindly to orders from anyone, he still obeys, getting to the bed. Billy know what to do and while he’s not overly careful when removing his lover’s shirt, he’s not rough either and the cut on Ned’s side isn’t too deep, or smells, but it does need some better cleaning and Billy looks through his saddle bag for the kit he’d learned to take with him when he has the chance.  
  
He hands the bottle over to Ned, who eyeballs it with suspicion.  
  
“Rum?”  
“Absinthe. Two sips should be enough.”  
  
Ned gives him a look that could mean anything or nothing and then takes a huge gulp, almost choking and he laughs between the coughs.  
  
“I’ve underestimated the death through poison. Shite, Bones, dinnae take ye for an assassin.”  
  
Billy huffs and gently pushes the man back down on the thin mattress and the pillows. He washes his hands in the basin, brings a candle and gives Ned his shirt back.  
  
“You may wanna bite into this.”  
  
He then takes out needle and thread and holds the point over the candle to burn off any dirt in the flame. When he starts stitching, Ned is growling silently behind the shirt stuffed into his mouth but the cut is easily fixed, there’s no unhealthy color or smell and Billy feels the anger he wont accept as fear or concern, turn into relief. He ties the thread properly, cuts it off with his knife and then takes his own shirt off.  
  
He’s still feeling annoyed and rips the unbleached piece of linen into a long enough stripe to wrap around Ned’s narrow waist. When Ned looks incredulous to it, Billy sighs.  
  
“We’re on the account. You get hurt, I get hurt, it’s how it is. But you better fucking tend to your wonds, you idiot.”  
“Or wha’, Bones?”  
“Or I’ll rip your other eye out, Ned. Or maybe you wanna go back to last name basis, huh?”  
  
In another world, the one that exists outside of this hidden sliver of imagined comfort, Ned would’ve left from that, taken to the door only to turn around before heading out and throw his dagger into Billy without hesitation.  
  
Now he just lays still and that’s the only answer he’ll give to the question.  
  
***  
  
This man likes the uncertain world, the unpredictable that keeps him on the edge, of that Billy is certain. As he tends to the wound Ned smiles, not the wry one but the curve no one now living being but Billy has seen and Ned himself doesn’t know he’s giving away. Under Billy’s skilled hands, the wound gets cleaned, stitched and wrapped up and when he’s done, Billy hands the absinthe over, an offer immediately accepted and when Ned has had a mouthful, Billy takes the bottle away again.  
  
“Anyone ever tol’ ye ye’re a gentleman, Mr. Bones.”  
“As a matter of fact, Captain Low, yes.”  
“Tha’s giving piracy a bad reputation.”  
“I’ll better myself next time I come across some English soldiers.”  
  
He can’t stop himself from reaching over to Ned’s hair, stroking it away from his face.  
  
“You’re staying til dawn?”  
“Unless ye have other plans.”  
“I do not.”  
“I’ll stay.”  
“Good. Then there’s no rush.”  
  
He’s not waiting for Ned to answer that, but slides down, widening the man’s thighs with his elbows and lowers into the belly, careful not to touch the wound. The muscles might not be chiseled out but they’re strong and firm, the softness of the skin deceitful and Billy imagines seeing Ned up the riggings or by the rudder, or the way his pelvis might move on a horse’s back.  
  
He breathes his way across the belt buckle, the buttons and the hardness slowly coming to life behind course fabrics. Ned is so lean over the hips, the bones especially, skin tight and warm and Billy folds the fabrics, licks over the points, one at the time, tickling stripes. He nuzzles the groin, the v-shaped vale there and he sucks through the fabrics, making the man growl softly, a hand moving onto his hair and Billy shudders when he feels how it restrains itself, how Ned wills his hand to just hold on and not becoming a moving force.  
  
The Captain smells from soap, still slightly damp on the hair ends and it sends thrills down Billy’s spine just to know Ned cared enough to wash himself, even if he didn’t tend to the wound. There’s still the distinct, musty scent from the sea and the ship, from tar and salt that sets into your skin once you’ve been more at sea than not. When you’re becoming one with the waves and every time you raise the flag, the blood and screams spin another piece of thread to weave into the legend of men turning into nightmares and no one really cares who the man beneath the monster was – or could’ve been.  
  
No soap and brush can ever erase that scent. It’s what make them both who they are and Billy wouldn’t want it any other way as he works Ned’s breeches open, still attentive to the wound, and dives down.  
  
***  
  
There’s a drum inside him, beating with that steadfast rhythm that never gets carried away, never allows him to feel anything to it’s full extent. That’s what makes him a stranger among men, among humans ever since Eliza was taken from him. Ned can still remember how strange the pull was when they first met, how she made him feel something he supposed was what would give other men that smile in their voices when talking about a woman they cared for.  
  
For a few short years, he was a living man, the beats able to get frantic and loose the rhythm. She would smile at him, look at him with those eyes and insert that… care inside him, that need to not just take what he wanted, but to give, to simply _be_ something to her. It happened again when little Elizabeth was born, was kept burning and then, there was blood and screams again. And the silence.  
  
It didn’t happen immediately, this sense of his heart turning into a hollow drum. Hollow, yes, that’s really the only remaining word that could describe him now. A void seemingly impossible to fill, that wont get drowned by the sea or the rum. It’s just a bottomless pit he’s been falling down since the soil swallowed his heart and he’s now stopped anticipating the day when there’s solid ground meeting his feet again. It’s only the drum left now and Ned is tired, so tired of it’s restless hunt, it’s unsatiable hunger and how every beat seems to hollow him out a bit more.  
  
Billy suckles him gently, just lapping at his cock, tongue circling around the head like he’s teasing but there’s no smirk, no challenging eyes to it and Ned can’t stop looking at the man, at the giant hands that don’t dig in, just holding his hips still, the force there but held back and the drum is changing it’s rhythm, beats still hard and steady, primitive to the core, only this time it doesn’t echo through an empty space and it’s not the mere carnal thrill those lips give, but something else, something that speaks of a you, a me, an us and Ned knows he should push the man away but he’s been living on the edge for years now and sooner or later he should’ve known something or someone would make him fall.  
  
“Ned?”  
  
The man’s voice reaches through the beats, heat leaving his aching cock and there’s too much fabrics and too much distance when Billy looks up at him. Ned makes a sound he’s not sure what to call, a sigh, maybe, a sob or just the one of a hurting animal. He presses his lips together, takes a breath through his nose and exhales slowly.  
  
“Get undressed.”  
  
***  
  
For a moment, Billy could’ve sworn the milky eye was _seeing _and that the sight was inserting fear. It’s gone now, lasted only for a second and Billy watches the one-eyed man remove his breeches and boots. The Captain’s frame is so slender it’s almost boyish before you feel the strenght. It’s like one of them reefs, luring under the surface, appearing so innocent at first sight yout still can’t fathom how it can cut through a fucking warship, conquer canons and crush mens’ plans like nothing.  
  
Maybe it’s good that he, for once in his goddamn life, has no real plan.  
  
Billy quickly gets rid of his remaining clothes and moves to lay down, not on top of the man, but next to him, looking straight at him and the open wound that is Ned’s face. Billy knows the stories, the English propaganda as well as the fearsome fairytales and he’s probably a fool because he’s not John Silver who can read a man like an open book, but while Billy can see the anger, the hatred and the lust for violence clear as day in this scarred face, those traits more and more slip away, like a mask slowly moving to show something more.  
  
A simple man, not a ghost story or a legend or even the captain.  
  
He slides down between the man’s thighs, towering over him but Ned doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t challenge, just lays back and lets Billy have his way. Billy wants to taste him all over, to savour the wilderness of Ned Low’s body and what little he gives away of the heart and mind. More than he realises, Billy suspects, as he feels the way the body moves underneath him, soft and pliable, like human putty wanting to be molded. Into what, Billy doesn’t dare to guess.  
  
They’re kissing and the softness of it a stark contrast to the way they grind their cocks together. It’s an intimacy, a _sharing_ Billy has no other experience of, certainly no name for, and when he whispers his lover’s name again into the crook of his neck, Ned’s arms and legs come around him and for a moment they’re pressing together brutally, as if trying to squeeze each other dry, to calm down before this unknown wave they’re riding is swallowing them whole.  
  
He reaches for his saddle bag and the vial of oil he brought along, without letting go of the man. Billy wants to hold Ned here, just like this, strong yet pliable, wild but trusting underneath him and fuck, this is turning into something he doesn’t know how to handle in any other way than with his body. Outside these sweet encounters, they’re still strangers to each other and the chance of them being friends and allies as big as the risk of becoming enemies. In Nassau, that always means death in some form and Billy forces the reality away as he starts widening the lean creature in front of him.  
  
***  
  
He’s anything but unaware of the wide range of ungodly vices humans indulge in when having the combination of lust, opportunity and secrecy. To Ned, there’s nothing new with men fucking in one way or the other, but he’s gasping and panting harshly, like some goddamn virgin, when Billy’s wicked fingers work him open and that’s new as well, because the man is huge and just the notion that this is necessary for Ned to be able to take him, sends those tugs and pulls like barbs to his hollowness, finding something, whatever it is, to tear into.  
  
Billy thrusts slowly at first, only a few inches, teasing Ned’s hole and it’s frustrating and oh so thrilling to know that he can’t use brutal force to make the man go faster. He’s literally _underneath_ this gentle but firm giant and when Ned whimpers from frustration, Billy simply kisses him, yet still keeping him on edge. It’s softer than it should be, gentle and sweet and Ned moans into it, the taste of his lover and he feels himself sink further back into the mattress, going slack and pliant with want as he’s being filled.  
  
Ned has never imagined he’d need to _be_ fucked more than being the one doing the fucking but when Billy finally goes all the way in one, smooth move, it’s like every little shatter of life still existing inside of him, are coming together and remember what they are, what they used to be and the only thing stopping Ned from going violent, from reaching for something, anything to use as a weapon and strike this giant down, is how insanely good it feels to be filled, how his flesh stops fighting and settles around the intrusion, the thickness thrusting hard and determined, controlled where Ned has lost all of it.  
  
He’s clawing at his back, not to cause harm, but because he doesn’t know where else to put his hands. Billy fucks him slowly and so deep it almost hurts, the friction and force molding that sweet spot, the one Ned can’t fathom why God put there if it wasn’t meant to be touched and when he bites into hit wrist, Billy removes it, almost too gently.  
  
The eyes are so blue, dark as night and Ned can see how a legend could grow out of this man as well, alongside men like Captain Flint, Captain Vane and himself. The drum inside him is threatening to beat a hole through his skin now, this muscle akin to a human heart and Billy stifles any protest about to leave Ned’s lips, by cutting it off with a kiss.  
  
***  
  
Billy has the hands in a bruising grip now, has to because he can’t think with them moving over him. He’s pressing them down over Ned’s head, the groans and whimpers filling not just the room but most likely reaching into the night outside as well. Ned is so hot and slick, so open and wanting, his now untoched cock weeping fluid like the tears Billy has learned to reckognize as a sign of pleasure, not pain.  
  
Ned arches his back like whore, wanton and unashamed and Billy is lost to him, to the way he feels and sounds, to how the usually so motionless mask becomes a man of flesh and blood, needing and breathless.  
  
Their rhythm is no longer restrained but not all unleashed either. The feral man in his arms isn’t fighting at all, he’s holding on, grasping for Billy with every move, as if holding on, not for dear life this time but for something else, a memory or the now, and it doesn’t matter. Billy is loosing himself too, he can’t not when Ned is so unabashed and free underneath him, begging through harsh, ragged breaths for him not to stop, to give him more, to crack him open and with a few rough tugs around Ned’s cock, the man opens both his eyes, the blind and seeing and Billy forgets Nassau, the crew, the raids and fights, Captain Flint and Silver, his own past and uncertain future and then, easy as a sigh, his own name.  
  
***  
  
“Your reputation doesn’t proceed you.”  
“Tha’ goes for ye as well.”  
  
The giant chuckles.  
  
“Didn’t know I had one.”  
  
Ned shouldn’t do this, he should get up and moving but there’s no way in hell that will happen. He’s far too comfortable in this embrace to cast it aside for the legends they both know have but shallow roots to reality.  
  
He’s feeling good here despite the complete absence of blood and doesn’t even scowl when Billy takes a cloth to clean them both, nor when he brings the thin blanket instead of their breeches. In a way Ned should be used to this now, to all the ways Billy Bones seems like someone only disguised as a pirate. Their naked forms together under the blanket suspiciously reminding of something more than the strangers they truly are to each other.  
  
And yet, Ned can’t recall the last time he felt this close to someone, not even his wife and the thought of her makes him rub the black ring he’s never taking off. It’s not a wedding band, he’s keeping that hidden in his cabin.  
  
“What was her name?”  
  
Ned looks up at the question, Billy’s voice is soft, his eyes sympathic yet not pitying. Ned swallows and the last man asking that question lost his tongue and then his life. He’s never said her name since leaving Boston, with every grieving mile increasing the distance from the man he was and the monster he’s become, he’s felt unworthy of mentioning her, the son that didn’t survive and the daughter left behind.  
  
And the first mate he’s only met a few times doesn’t know about that threat but wouldn’t fall prey to it either and so, Ned opens his lips and then he lets it fall, the name of the last person who knew him as the man he once was.  
  
“Eliza. Eliza Marble.”


End file.
